Embracing Childlike Joy

Duck River Books in Columbia, TN

Recently on Indie Bookstore Day, we took our five-year-old son to our favorite local bookstore. I let him choose a book to buy and he decided on THE WILD ROBOT by Peter Brown. It quickly became his favorite for our bedtime readings and we flew through it in about a week. At the very end of the book, there were notes from the author and drawings from his writing process. My son was mesmerized by the different “versions” of the robot and asked me to read Peter’s notes over and over again. 

The day after we finished the book, he told me he wanted to write a book of his own (*cue my mama heart exploding*), so I immediately drove us to the store. He chose a notebook with open space at the top of each page for illustrations and we set to work bringing his stories to life. He drew the pictures and told me the words he wanted written on the lines beneath. While it was mostly a creative pursuit, it doubled as a phonics lesson. (Shoutout to all my fellow homeschool mamas out there!)

Interacting with my son in this way started healing a part of me I didn’t realize was still wounded. I was overcome with pride watching him finish each page. It was a full circle moment to see him come alive everytime he came up with his next idea and all I wanted to do was foster that passion. 

I was once that child. I believed with my whole heart that I could be an author. I knew I had a story to tell and wanted nothing more than to share it with the world. 

Somewhere along the way, those dreams became blurry. In college I changed majors to something outside of the creative space to something deemed more “practical” and stopped journaling. My stories laid unfinished and forgotten. 

Forgotten, but not lost.

Outside forces, differing opinions, and societal pressures all sought to diminish the fire I felt with a pen in my hand. I set that pen down. And I told myself I’d come back to it later. 

Later…when I was done with my degree.

Later…when I wasn’t so busy. 

Later…when my career slowed down. 

Before my move to Nashville, a change began to take hold. Despite lifelong, crippling stage fright, I started serving on my church’s worship team and experienced fellowship with incredible creatives who sparked that fire within me again. I began journaling once more. 

Journaling led to poetry.

Poetry became song lyrics. 

Song lyrics led to recording my very first original song. 

In the initial years after moving to Nashville, I wrote several more songs and began collaborating with my now husband. But between working a busy nursing career, buying my first home, planning a wedding, and starting our family, my writing began to take a backseat, again. (The idea for my debut novel originated in 2014, but I didn’t begin seriously outlining the story until 2024 - ten years later!)

In 2023, I underwent a surgery that led me to the lowest I’ve ever been mentally. I’d been struggling for three years with a shattered tailbone that left me debilitated and hopeless. Although removing the three shards of completely disconnected bone would eventually bring me to a place of incredible healing, the ten month recovery process was excruciating. 

For the first time in my life, I began seeing a therapist.  

Through rest and physical therapy, my body finally began to mend. Through intensive therapy and introspection, I began to dig deep into the hurts of my past. Bringing them to light was terrifying, because for thirty-six years I’d kept my emotions meticulously compartmentalized as a defense mechanism. Processing them out loud felt like I was pulling the cork out of a lifelong dam of protection. 

At first it felt like I was drowning in the deluge, but over time the effects of my sessions were evident in the way I felt about myself and the way I interacted with others. My resilient nature had been a strength in my nursing career where managing tough emotions was vital to performing well in a crisis, but it had also stifled my ability to process trauma over the course of my life.

One of the many benefits from my time in therapy was the rediscovery of my passions. I began to prioritize the pursuits that brought me joy. I listened to the little girl inside who loved riding horses, loved dancing, and (most of all) loved writing. I felt empowered to honor the God-given desires of my heart and learned the valuable lesson that self-care is not just skin deep. 

I came to the realization that pursuing our passions is food for the soul.

Childhood dreams are not frivolous.

They require guidance, patience, support, and practice.

As a part of that process, I dug up the notebook that held all of my childhood writings. It’s crammed with poems, stories, drawings, songs, and a Lisa Frank folder containing the very first book I ever wrote (all one hundred handwritten pages of it). My stories stretched back as far as the second grade and continued through my college years. Reading through them was extremely cathartic and inspired me to continue on my path to publication. 

“Later” was no longer an acceptable time frame for accomplishing the goals I’d set for myself. Slowly, arduously, I began to devote time to my current work in progress until it was a part of my daily routine. I did countless hours of (ongoing) research and developed a plan. I no longer shied away from the statistics that yelled, “You’ll never make it!” but instead embraced the mantra of, “Why not? Why not me?”

I leaned in. 

My childhood words reminded me of my son’s love for stories, and it made my heart smile to think he could have possibly inherited that from me. I want to do everything in my power to foster his creativity and make sure he knows I will always support his endeavors. 

We all have those dreams from our childhood.

The dreams no one thought we’d ever achieve.

The kind adults tried to talk us out of.

I’m here to tell you that in the end, the only person holding you back from following those dreams is yourself. Embrace the childlike joy of creating what only you were destined to. The end result may not be exactly how you'd imagined it, but I can promise you that when you trust the calling God places on your heart, it will all be worth it.